Going, Going, Gone
by saccharine.panda
Summary: "...It was unlike anything else he'd ever felt. Then again, Maes was unlike anyone else he'd ever met." A series of connected one shots centering around Maes Hughes, Elysia Hughes, Riza Hawkeye, and Roy Mustang. One-sided Roy x Maes, Maes x Gracia, and later Roy x Riza. Rated T for language.
1. I

**I**

"Hey, remember when we first met?"

This was a stupid question for Roy Mustang. He looked over at his colleague, his best friend, the love of his life, who was peeking thoughtfully over his glasses as he tilted his mug of cheap beer against his lips. This was their favourite pub; though it was filled to the brim of drunken hollers and the stench of tobacco during the weekends, it was nothing Roy wasn't used to and nothing Maes minded. It was quiet now, it being a Wednesday, and their habitual visit had become something of a tradition to get them through the long weeks that came with being part of the military.

"Obviously. My first time having to hear that annoying voice isn't something I could forget easily."

"Bastard," Maes hissed in his usual good-natured way, poking an elbow into Roy's ribs as he stuck his tongue out. The other easily swatted him off and rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his own stale alcohol.

"Yeah, yeah." He paused, lowering his drink. "It was training. You didn't pass the alchemy exam."

"I guess I should have seen it coming the moment I saw you do your fancy flame alchemy. I didn't stand a chance." He chuckled, glancing over at Roy as the other suppressed a blush and replaced it with a smirk.

"You know it, Hughes."

"Damn, I shouldn't fuel your ego any more. I'm surprised you can still stand with the size of your head."

"Yeah, it's almost as big as your nose."

"Dickhead."

The two laughed, and Roy was the first to fall into a smiling pause, before he looked over to the other once more.

"But you prefer your job now, right? You wouldn't want to be an alchemist. There's too much bloodshed."

Maes's only response was a nod, his fingers curling more tightly around the handle of his beer mug. "I like being in an office. Not too demanding." He glanced over at Roy, his lips twitching into a slight frown. "And you know you can't blame yourself. None of us can."

Roy merely took another sip of his alcohol, and he winced at the burning of the spirit as it scraped his throat before he put his glass down on the counter, muttering to the bartender for another drink.

"Oh, but I can, Maes."

Roy had always been in love with Maes Hughes. Or, at least, that's what Riza told him after he'd confided his strange feelings to her. Like how, even when he first saw him when he was about to brag about passing the state alchemy exam, and Maes had given him a bright smile and a chirp of congratulations, he'd felt his chest tightly constrict and his boastful words melt away on his tongue.

 _"I'm Maes Hughes! You're Roy Mustang, right? Great job! Your alchemy was totally cool!" He could still hear his first words._

 _His heart was racing._

 _"Yeah I am. Thanks I guess. Nice to meet you." Why had his voice trembled?_

It was unlike anything else he'd ever felt.

Then again, Maes was unlike anyone else he'd ever met.

"Hey there Roy, you still awake?" Said man blinked, looking up a bit when he felt the other bump his shoulder. Maes's teasing smile was almost enough to make the longing in his heart evaporate and explode all at once.

"Gee, you're getting worse at holding your liquor, _Colonel_. And that's saying something; you were pretty bad before."

"Shut up, idiot," he rolled his eyes, and as he took a swig of his refilled drink his heart quivered.

"But I'm you're idiot, right?"

The sudden jolt in his chest almost made Roy choke, but he played it off.

"Mhm. Guess I'm stuck with you."

And he wouldn't have it otherwise.


	2. II

**II**

Roy Mustang had two options.

He could take refuge in the huge bar of chocolate he was now clutching to his chest (which he found to be the most preferable option); or he could purge his feelings to Riza, who had settled down adjacent to him on his cot and was purposefully avoiding looking in his direction, which he appreciated. He didn't know whether he could face the brown gaze, so patient and kind. He didn't deserve her, like he clearly didn't deserve Hughes.

"...Do you want to talk, Roy?"

The man felt he owed her some sort of explanation (mostly because she had been the one to bring the chocolate: it had been given to her by her aunt who lived in Dublith or something- he remembered her receiving it in the mail and feeling jealous), and, whilst he continued to neglect the idea of looking at her, a small sigh left his lips.

"Hughes has a girlfriend."

Her face was practically burnt into the back of his skull. It was a sign, a wound, a scar, to taunt him.

He was too late.

Riza blinked slowly, before her eyebrows slumped sadly. Roy jumped as he felt her hand on his arm, finally turning his eyes towards her. The soft, sympathetic smile on her lips made his own quiver, and soon a few tears dribbled down his face, congregating on his chin. He almost didn't bother to wipe them away; he knew Hawkeye wasn't going to judge him, but he couldn't risk the thought of Hughes dipping his head in for another stupid gossip about his wonderful girlfriend and seeing him in such a sorry state. He averted his eyes once more.

"How did you find out?" was all she said after his tears had quelled, and he almost wanted to cry again.

"...When we were talking earlier. On the hill. He had a postcard from her, with a picture. He droned on about her, having a stupid debate with himself about if she would ever cheat on him whilst he's gone. Bastard." His voice wavered on the last syllable. Riza's hand shifted to his back, her fingers tracing over the soft creases in his uniform. She had learnt from experience that it was a good way to calm him. After her father's death, comforting each other became a habit. Soon enough, she could feel his body deflate slightly, tiredly.

"...Did you eat?" She was beginning to sound like a mother. It may have seemed an odd priority given the situation, but he had been doing this for a while. Some days, when he got particularly weighed down by something he'd done, something he hadn't done, someone he'd killed, the screams or the stench of burning flesh...He skipped meals. He didn't eat when he was upset, not during meal times nor in the privacy of his tent; even when she took it upon herself to supply him with food, it went uneaten. She remembered coming to visit him in his tent and finding old rations under his pillow after leaning on it accidentally.

She wondered if it was his way of punishing himself.

But Roy merely rolled his eyes. "We were talking over lunch, so no, not much anyway."

He couldn't lie to her.

Riza bit down on her tongue slightly. "You should eat."

"I know that. I'm not a child."

"You know Maes wouldn't hurt you on purpose," she continued. "He's dense."

"I'm aware." His voice was snappier than he intended. "I just came back here after talking with him."

Her mouth opened, but it took her a minute to form the words. Roy suddenly wondered if that was the right thing to say.

"You've never skipped work." This much was true of Roy. Despite his usual habit of slacking off- more so before Ishval- or sleeping in, or even his own moral values, he never physically abandoned a job. He hadn't missed a day since he started working in the military.

"I know that too, funnily enough."

Riza let out a small huff, which then dissolved into a sigh. She glanced up at Roy, and his longing gaze at the chocolate didn't go unnoticed.

"You can eat it you know, sir." Her lips played by habit, and she was suddenly embarrassed. Roy's eyebrows raised.

"Sir?"

"Roy."

"Right." Nevertheless, he didn't feel in the mood to tease her, so after a shrug he managed to get to his feet, languidly trailing over to the door of the tent to zip it closed. The draft in Ishval was cold at night, so he was going to be pre-emptive since the sun was beginning to shy away behind the hills again, likely repulsed by the atrocities committed under its daylight.

Riza just waited, wondering why she was blushing.


	3. III

**III**

The flowers were red.

They were perfect roses, sculpted by nature into the perfect curlicues of their perfect love that would last for the rest of their perfect lives-

Roy's lip quivered. He knew that he couldn't cripple now as he stood by Maes's side, unable to even glance over at the other, to even risk seeing the adoring look in the other's eyes as Gracia, gowned in ivory, waltzed towards the altar. Each step she took towards Maes was like a shove to Roy's chest, each click of her heels the cocking of a gun aiming for his heart, and each tear of joy in their eyes was a bullet.

Could things have been different, somehow? Could his sweet spectacled gaze, his close embrace, his soft velvet lips, the tickle of his stubble against his chin; could any of it ever have been Roy's? The colonel's hands clenched into fists, before they slackened hopelessly.

No.

They were always hers. Never his.

She looked beautiful, he noted. The dress lightly hugged her waist, before it cascaded down into ripples that danced all the way to the floor and beyond. The veil caressed her back and shoulders as it glimmered faintly in the church lighting, flowers sewn through her hair as the strands on either side curled towards her cheeks. The matching smile remained on her lips even as tears tainted her cheeks and she stumbled through her vows.

He heard the words. They echoed in his mind.

"Does anyone here have a reason as to why these two should not be wed in holy matrimony?"

Roy wanted to scream, but his voice had died. He wanted to crumble to the ground, but his legs were pillared to the floor, though they trembled. He wanted to grab Maes, trail kisses over his face, hold him and never let him go, but his arms were useless. He was useless.

He eventually managed to look up at Maes as the priest's voice faded away, and the trigger was pulled. Roy didn't want to see him kiss the bride. Hell, at this moment he didn't even want to be breathing. He wished he could have just clicked his fingers, and his flames would have engulfed him, seeped over his skin and burnt him in a way that he was already experiencing every time he saw Maes's hand curl around Gracia's, or the little smile that would quirk his lips just before he leaned down to kiss her. Maybe then he could be relieved of the agony of being alive.

And, as the spectators, blissfully unaware, erupted into cheers of congratulations, Roy Mustang wondered why it had to hurt so much to be in love.

"Maes..." The man's cracked whisper was belittled, lost in the surrounding bitter happiness that was gradually drowning him. The tears that stained his cheeks were masked in the unrequited smile of the one he unrequitedly loved.

Roy knew it was a terrible day for rain.

Edward's hands were red. Well, the crimson had faded by now, so his palms were now a mere pink after his attempt to rinse the blood off of the skin. But he was smiling.

They were all smiling.

Except for Roy.

His gaze flickered to the small bundle in Gracia's arms. For a moment, he wondered how something could be so tiny, so pure. But the little eyes that cracked open, green orbs that peeked up at him, were curious, unaware that her very existence caused the final blow to his crumbling heart.

She had her eyes.

The eyes that took everything from him.

He almost wished they were Maes's, but he didn't know if he would have been able to stand it.

"So, what should we name her?" The new father turned towards his friend, expectant, ignorant, _happy_. Roy would have mocked the man for the tear stains that glazed his cheeks had he not been in so much pain. However, he couldn't mask the surprise that showed with the quirk of his eyebrow.

"You're asking me? I thought you would have had names picked out within the first day of finding out Gracia was pregnant, Hughes." He managed to scoff and roll his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest in an almost amused manner, and he didn't want to admit that he was flattered. It almost made up for the agony of his dismissed feelings. Well, they would have been dismissed had Roy mustered the courage to even tell Maes he was in love with him in the first place. For a second his heart ached a bit, but he swallowed the pain to relish in the fact that Maes trusted him enough to let him name his child. With the cheeky, childlike grin that spread over the other's face and reached his honey eyes, Roy allowed a small smile to lace his lips.

Maes never failed to make him smile. Even when he was breaking his heart.

"Well, I thought it would be extra special if her godfather picked out her name!"

Fuck.

The beam on Maes's face was too much to bear. Roy turned away, as though he'd been brutally punched in the jaw, but played it off by rolling his neck as though he had to stretch and running a hand through his hair.

"Elysia."

 _God's oath_.

For he knew that this little girl was God's oath, his promise, that Maes would never be his.

He'd never believed in such things, but what he did believe was that if there were a god, they hated Roy Mustang.

His blood was red.

All Roy could see was his blood.

It trickled into his mind, his vision, his very being, until it consumed him, blinded him, and rendered him unable to even move. He could feel his eyes burning as he hunched over his desk, his chest crippling with each staggered gasp as if it couldn't even breathe anymore. His fingers tightened around his pen in a strangling grip, before he abruptly catapulted it across the office, instead clasping his hair and tugging at it wretchedly.

A phone call.

The phone could have been the life line needed to keep Maes alive. If he'd picked up sooner, perhaps he would have been able to send him help, or at least hear his voice for a last time.

His fault.

It was his fault.

He could imagine it, and that was the worst part. His final breath, used to mutter Gracia's name- or _his_ name- to call for help, to _scream_ , before it was splintered and tainted with his own blood. His hand desperately grasping for the phone as a bullet tore through his body and ripped out his life. His eyes dripping with agony as he struggled to keep them open, before they were dyed with death. The small, jerky rise of his chest as he tried to inhale, before he fell still into the night, never to stir from his slumber again.

The scream was like bile as it left his lips. It burnt him, made him feel the same torture, the same hopelessness, the same utter despair he had felt the night Maes Hughes died all over again until he wanted to collapse and never wake up. The fumbling of feet, the knocking on his office door, the worried voices of his friends and colleagues faded into nothing, as though he couldn't even face reality anymore. The past was a demon, and there was no blessed light to save him.

The room was completely dark, and Roy sobbed.

He was glad he'd locked the door.


End file.
